


Tuesday Morning

by bigficenergy



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 17:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20660717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigficenergy/pseuds/bigficenergy
Summary: Between "Open Mic" and "The Barbecue", a storm brings David and Patrick a little closer together.





	Tuesday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wardo_wedidit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/gifts).

> Inspired by her (absolutely correct) tweet from a while back suggesting that David would be a fan of Michelle Branch. It got me listening to her music for the first time in too long. "Tuesday Morning" was and still is my favorite of her songs, and it's kind of a perfect David/Patrick song. So here's a whole fic based on that song.
> 
> Hope you like it, Aly! Cheers to our great taste in music. ;)

The weather in Schitt's Creek is something of a mystery.

For some time after his family's arrival, David resented the nearly year-round sunshine and clear skies which, when juxtaposed with his overall despondent outlook on life, felt like an extra kick from the universe when he was already down.

He adapted, which is one way of saying that he took to wearing his beloved sweaters year-round out of spite. But the more he got used to the sunshine, the stranger any deviation in the weather felt. For example, when the seemingly mild weather had suddenly given way to snow during their first Christmas in town, he'd thought the world was ending. He knows now to expect it, as if on cue, every December. There was rain too, of course. There had to be, for all of the farms in the area. But if there was a schedule to that, David hadn’t caught on yet.

\---

It’s a Monday morning after a predictable, perfectly sunny, late-summer weekend, when dark, ominous clouds begin to roll in. David eyes them warily as he walks to work, alerting Patrick to the imminent deluge the second he steps into the store. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised when Patrick is downright blasé about it, seemingly convinced that the clouds are far enough out that the rain won't even hit the Creek.

By late afternoon, the cloud coverage overhead is so dense, they have to switch all the lights on in the store early. The impending storm seems to have driven all potential customers away, so there’s nothing to keep David from standing at the window anxiously, waiting for the heavens to open up. Patrick comes to stand behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, looking out too.

“Huh.”

“You were saying?” David says with a grimace.

“Well, I can give you a ride home if it starts raining. Or…”

David leans into him. “Or…?”

“Ray will be out ‘til late. You could come over. Dinner, movie, keeping each other warm?”

David squeezes his eyes shut as butterflies erupt in his stomach, momentarily overtaking his stress. The sensation isn’t necessarily new, but the fact that the feeling has persisted and continued to grow certainly is. Patrick had taken him - had taken _ them _ \- to new heights with his stunning serenade at the store’s first open mic night, and now he finds himself wanting to lean into the affection, the fondness, the _ hope_, more often than he wants to run from it. He turns around and places his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, squeezing affectionately. Patrick’s hands move to David’s waist.

“My goodness, Patrick. Wasn’t it you who said we should keep dates to weekends? Something about work-life balance and giving ourselves something to look forward to? How are we supposed to get through the week if you’re already suggesting that we Netflix-and-chill?”

“I was thinking Netflix and hot chocolate,” Patrick says, his eyes wide in the faux-innocent way that has come to make David feel tingly inside.

“Is that what the kids are calling it now?”

“Maybe I just want to because it’s my turn to pick what we watch.”

“Oh, so you don’t even need me there.”

Patrick shrugs. “Maybe. But I want you there.”

David heaves a sigh, but it’s just for show. “Will there be marshmallows in this hot chocolate?”

“We could damage out a package of those vanilla marshmallows we just got in.”

“Damage out perfectly good product?” David presses the back of his hand to Patrick’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

Patrick knocks his hand away, failing miserably at keeping a straight face. “Better do it before I change my mind.”

\---

It’s just starting to sprinkle when they get to Ray’s. Patrick calls in an order from the only Vietnamese restaurant in town, and they go into the kitchen to grab some beers while they wait for their food. 

The beers are quickly set aside in favor of making out. For a while, Patrick keeps his hands on David’s hips, pushing them away and smiling against his lips when David tries to press all the way up against him. His half-hearted efforts are futile in the end, as he somehow ends up sitting on the counter with his legs wrapped around David’s waist, a hand in his hair, and his tongue in his mouth.

By the time the food arrives it’s pouring outside, and Patrick is in no state to answer the door. David isn’t much better, but he tugs his sweater down, runs a hand through his mussed hair, and goes to get their dinner. The poor deliveryperson is soaked from the rain, and David makes sure to tip them generously for their trouble.

The pho they ordered is hot and comforting and perfect, and it’s almost enough to distract David from the downpour, which seems to be getting louder and louder against the roof and windows. After they eat, Patrick makes hot chocolate - not out of a packet, to David’s surprise. Apparently Ray prefers a proper cold-weather treat, and David respects him for that. He watches as Patrick stirs whole milk, sugar, and cocoa powder from a fancy glass jar in a saucepan on the stove. When it’s ready, he pours it into two mugs, topping each with a big, fluffy marshmallow cube.

Ray also has a couple of TV trays stashed in the corner of the living room, so they pull one over to the couch to set their mugs on. David gets on the couch first, leaning back against one of the armrests. Patrick brings over his laptop and a throw blanket and settles between David’s legs, his back to his chest.

\---

The only universe in which David doesn’t immediately veto Patrick’s viewing selection of _ Mindhunter _is one where his old friend Jonathan Groff is the show’s star. “Friend” is a stretch of course, but an acquaintance who always greeted him with a smile and remembered his name whenever they crossed paths gets an upgrade to friend in David’s book. He doesn’t share that detail with Patrick. He knows it’s kind of sad.

Lucky for David, he’s dated a couple of people who really enjoyed crime dramas, and he’s gotten good at anticipating when something is about to get particularly gruesome. When it does, he distracts himself with his phone until Patrick gives him the all-clear. He doesn’t need Patrick to do that - he can usually tell by the audio when it’s safe to look - but he thinks it’s sweet.

Patrick waits until after the first sex scene to ask.

“So you said you were friends?”

Even though Patrick can’t see him, David presses his lips together to hide his grin. “Mhm.”

“Did you two ever…?”

“We did not,” David says. “But, well, I won't lie… if he’d been interested…”

Patrick shifts and makes a little “hmph” sound. David leans forward and noses at his ear.

“You know, you kinda look like him.”

Patrick scoffs. “What? No way.”

“Mhmmm.”

“I don’t see it.”

“I don’t know. I think maybe I have a type.”

“Shh, David, I’m missing what’s happening.” He’s blushing and there’s a smile in his voice.

“Right sorry.” They settle back for a few seconds, but David isn’t finished. He’d seen the way Patrick’s head had tilted as he watched the scene a moment ago. “He’s got a pretty good butt, huh?”

“Drink your hot chocolate, David,” Patrick says, his voice just a tiny bit higher, the way it gets when he’s flustered. David kisses him behind his ear, then reaches for his mug.

\---

Sometime into the second episode, David swears he sees a flash of light from the window out of the corner of his eye. He starts counting and less than ten seconds later, a roar of thunder rattles through the sky, and through his nerves. He squeezes Patrick harder with the arm he has wrapped around him. Patrick squeezes back.

“That was less than two miles away,” David whispers.

“Two miles is pretty far.”

“It was _ less _ than two miles.”

Patrick pauses the show and tips his head back to look at David. “Have storms always bothered you?”

“I guess,” David says. “There isn’t, like, a story. It’s just, I don’t know… a general anxiety thing.”

“How did you used to deal with it?”

“Ambien and noise-canceling headphones.” David clears his throat. “I used to have a glass of wine too - yes, I know you're not supposed to do that - and then one time I sleepwalked into my kitchen and ate a whole jar of stuffed olives, which is disgusting, and it… freaked me out. Never mixed pills with alcohol again.”

For a moment, Patrick is quiet, and David is worried the tale of his former reckless behavior was too much too soon. But then Patrick sighs and brings David’s hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

“Will you settle for holding onto your boyfriend?” he asks.

_ Boyfriend_. It still feels new and exciting and a little surreal. David cranes his neck so he can kiss Patrick, despite the awkward angle.

“I suppose that’ll do.”

They resume the show, and David pays attention long enough to see Anna Torv arrive on the scene, thus increasing his interest for a moment. It takes too long for her to become a regular part of the show, though, so David gets distracted by his phone. He pockets it after a while and closes his eyes, just to rest them for a bit.

\---

David wakes up much later, judging by how disoriented he is. The sound of the unending rain comes back into focus. It’s dark, but not just nighttime dark. The lights are all out and the laptop is off. Patrick is still pressed to his front, warm and solid, his head tipped back against David’s shoulder. He can feel the rise and fall of his steady breathing, indicating that he dozed off too.

A rumble of thunder makes him jump. It’s too dark. The power must be out, David finally realizes. He digs his phone out of his pocket and turns on the flashlight.

“Patrick?”

His voice would barely be audible to someone conscious, so he gives Patrick a little shake as well. He wakes with a snuffle.

“What…?”

“I think the power went out.”

“Oh…”

David hears Patrick tapping on the keys of the laptop, but it must have died. He shifts around like he’s looking for something.

“I can’t find my phone, can I borrow yours? There are candles in the kitchen, and I think there are flashlights somewhere…”

David hands it over and draws his knees up, pulling the throw blanket over his legs as Patrick leaves the room with the only light source.

“Hey did Ray come home?” Patrick calls from the kitchen, over the sound of drawers and cabinets opening.

“Um, no. There’s no way we both would’ve slept through that.”

“It’s really late, I hope he’s okay.”

Suddenly David’s general anxiety about the storm becomes specific anxiety about Ray being on the road in the storm.

“Here we go,” Patrick says as he reenters the room with an armful of what David assumes are the aforementioned candles. “I’m gonna toss you this flashlight.”

“Please don- ow!” It’s too late, the flashlight hits him in the knee.

“Sorry.”

David picks it up with a huff, but turns it on and shines it helpful in Patrick’s direction. After Patrick has lit a couple of the assorted candles and strategically placed them on surfaces around the room, he dumps the remaining ones on the couch, and gives David is phone back, pulling another flashlight out of his back pocket to use instead. He turns it on and searches the cushions until he finds his phone.

“Oh good,” he says, looking over his texts. “Ray got a hotel room in Elmdale so he can wait out the storm. He’ll be back in the morning, assuming it’s cleared up.”

Ray won’t be back until morning. They have the house to themselves. 

Normally, they’d waste no time, leaving a trail of clothes on their way up to Patrick’s room. But this time, David freezes, flashing back to the last time they’d had a room to themselves for a night. 

_ It was the weekend after David had finally called Patrick his boyfriend. They’d treated themselves to a nice dinner and a room at a moderately fancy hotel a few towns over. That night, after good red wine and even better chocolate soufflé, Patrick had fucked David for the first time. David had expected it to be a little awkward, but ultimately good, based on everything they’d already done up to that point. He’d also braced himself for whatever Patrick felt after - good or bad, overwhelmed or indifferent, whatever. He hadn’t expected to be so overwhelmed himself. He hadn’t expected to come first, pulling Patrick over the edge with him. He hadn’t expected it to feel revelatory for the both of them. As they’d caught their breath, Patrick couldn’t stop smiling. It was infectious, and David couldn’t stop smiling either. _

_ On the drive home the next morning, Patrick seemed lost in thought behind the wheel. _

_ “Timbit for your thoughts?” David had asked, tilting the pack they’d stopped for toward him. _

_ “Just thinking about last night,” Patrick said, declining the pastries. _

_ “Hm, um, what about last night?” David was very bad at feigning disinterest. _

_ Patrick’s eyes stay on the road, his mouth open, but no words follow. David is about to break the silence when Patrick finally says, “I want you to do that to me.” _

_ “Oh,” David said. And then, because he’s a little bit of a brat, he’d followed that with, “Do what, exactly?” _

_ “You know what,” Patrick laughed. “You looked so… I want… I want that. All of you, all the ways. Unless you don’t… I mean, I know some people only like to… one way or the other…” _

_ “Okay, that’s a lot of blanks to fill in,” David says, suppressing a smile. “But yes, I would like to 'all the ways' with you too. I’m nothing if not versatile.” _

_ “David, I can’t move anything in the store without your permission, and your entire wardrobe is made up of two colors,” Patrick said, grinning. “I don’t know if ‘versatile’ is actually a descriptor you can claim.” _

_ “I can certainly claim it in the bedroom,” David said haughtily. _

_ “Well, it’s probably going to be a while before you can prove that,” Patrick said. _

_ David had given him a confused look. “Are you going away somewhere without me?” _

_ “No, we’re both going back to our life where we have no privacy and have to save up for weeks to be able to get away long enough to…” _

_ “Fuck properly?” _

_ “We should bring Mad Libs on our next trip.” _

_ “That’s going to get very dirty very quickly.” _

_ There’s a pause while David pops another Timbit into his mouth. _

_ “Next time,” Patrick says. He looks over to meet David’s wide-eyed gaze, frozen mid-chew. Patrick smiles. “Next time we have a night completely to ourselves. I want to try.” _

“David?”

Patrick’s voice jerks him back to the present, and he accidentally shines the flashlight in Patrick’s face, making him flinch and put his hand up. David tips it away gingerly.

“Sorry, what?”

Patrick sits next to him on the sofa, placing a gentle hand on his knee.

“You’re thinking about what I said. About the next time we were alone.”

David means to protest, but can’t find the words.

“We don’t have to,” Patrick says, his big earnest eyes shining in the low light. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

David feels his mouth twist, fighting the smile that wants to bloom.

“I think that’s my line.”

“It should go both ways,” Patrick says, rubbing his thumb over David’s knee.

“I know.”

He says it so quietly, he wonders if he said it out loud at all. Then Patrick is leaning forward, kissing him. It’s sweet and deliberate, in a way no one else has kissed him before, and he’s surprised at himself when Patrick pulls away and he leans forward a little, as if to chase him. It’s been a long time since he’s let himself be so unguarded with someone he was seeing.

“So,” Patrick says. “Obviously you’re welcome to stay. But I can still give you a ride home if you’d prefer.”

“Absolutely not,” David says, brows furrowed. “You think I’d allow you to drive us out there, into certain death?”

It’s not just that. But David isn’t going to tell him how the warmth of Patrick sleeping against him before is almost gone, and he misses it. He’s not going to tell him that the thought of trying to sleep through the storm at the motel tonight without him feels unbearable. He’s not going to tell him he doesn’t want to be alone.

“Okay then,” Patrick laughs, standing. He offers his hand to David. “In that case, we should find you something to sleep in. Come on.”

“Okay, but can you put some candles in the bathroom first?” David asks, letting Patrick pull him to his feet. “We’ve basically consumed nothing but liquids tonight and I really need to go.”

\---

Patrick puts the large, pumpkin spice-scented candle in the bathroom, which leaves some plain white pillar candles for the side tables in the bedroom. It feels romantic, and David wonders if Patrick chose those ones on purpose.

As Patrick roots around in his closet, having deemed everything in his dresser unfit, David mentally kicks himself for not bringing an overnight bag, longing for his own joggers and his nighttime moisturizer. The deeper Patrick goes into the storage bin he’s pulled from the depths of the closet, the harder David cringes.

“Aha!” Patrick exclaims triumphantly, tossing a garment at David, which he drops and has to pick back up. “Those are a little big on me, so they might fit you okay.”

“What are you trying to say?” David grumbles, shaking out what turns out to be a pair of unremarkable gray sweatpants.

“That I am of very average height and my statuesque boyfriend probably won’t fit into most of my pants,” Patrick deadpans.

“Hm. _ Statuesque_,” David whispers with flourish.

Patrick shakes his head, then stands and goes over to the chair in the corner of the room, pulling something out of the pile of clothes draped over it. “Here,” he says, tossing it to David.

“You should really stop throwing things at me,” David complains, even though he catches it this time. He holds it out in front of himself to look at it and frowns.

“It’s not _ Givenchy_, but I guess you could say it’s vintage,” Patrick says cheekily.

It’s a navy blue pullover sweatshirt with the words “1992 WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS” emblazoned on it. Below the text is the image of a bird, identifying the champions in question as the Toronto Blue Jays.

“I am far too young for something from 1992 to be considered vintage,” David says.

“It was my dad’s,” Patrick says, too caught up in memories to keep teasing him. “The Jays won the World Series again in ‘93, so this one got packed away in favor of the one he got that next year, and I found it when I was home from college for the holidays one year. Kinda stole it.”

David holds the sweatshirt closer to his body, trying to imagine 5-year-old Patrick sitting on his dad’s shoulders, cheering for the baseball team, and 20-ish-year-old Patrick, making Christmas cookies with his family in his childhood home, the sleeves of his dad’s old sweatshirt rolled up so they don’t get into the dough. Before he realizes what he’s doing, David brings the sweatshirt up to his face, pressing his nose to the collar and inhaling.

“Oh, it’s clean,” Patrick assures him quickly. “I wore it before bed for a little while the other night, but that’s-”

“It smells like you,” David says.

“Oh. I um… I don’t really use anything scented. What do I… what does it smell like?”

“I don’t know, your detergent, maybe your shampoo, just…”

Maybe it’s the darkness of the candlelit room that’s making him feel safe, but it occurs to David far too late that maybe he should be embarrassed, and maybe he shouldn’t have said this all to Patrick.

“It’s nice. It's _ you_,” he finishes anyway.

For a long moment, David can’t read Patrick’s expression in the dim light, but then he steps closer, taking the clothes from David and tossing them on the end of the bed.

“Maybe don’t put those on just yet,” he says, his eyes on David’s lips.

“Okay,” David breathes, and then they’re kissing. It’s not as gentle as before, but it’s still somehow full of care. Patrick’s fingers slide beneath the hem of David’s sweater.

“And maybe take this off.” He’s already pulling the sweater, along with his undershirt up and over David’s head. He tosses the clothes away and runs his hands down David’s bare chest. There’s still the instinct in David to turn away, to cover up, to run, but there’s also still awe in Patrick’s eyes like there was the first time they undressed together. It’s so endearing. He has to stay.

“Do we maybe want to-” David starts, fingertips plucking at the hem of Patrick’s sweater, and Patrick quickly strips off his own sweater and undershirt. While David is distracted by that, Patrick tugs him closer by the waistband of his black jeans, undoing the button and the zip. David goes for Patrick’s belt, and they fumble to get each other’s pants off. Before they can, there’s a crack of thunder outside that’s so resounding, even Patrick jumps a little. David grabs Patrick’s arms instinctively, holding on tight.

“It’s okay,” Patrick soothes, encouraging him to loosen his grip. “Come here.”

He turns David toward the bed and guides him to sit, then lay back. He pulls David’s pants off, and then his own, and climbs on top of him, straddling him. David still looks stressed.

“How sure are you that the roof is going to hold up?”

“Ninety… eight percent?” Patrick says, shifting his position. “Don’t worry, I’m going to distract you.”

Before David can ask about the remaining two percent, Patrick rolls his hips purposefully, grinding his ass down where it’s aligned perfectly over David’s cock. Even through the remaining layers of their underwear, it makes pleasure spark hot and, yes, distractingly, through David’s body. Patrick brings David’s hands up to grip his waist and that’s all the guidance he needs to take a firm grip and thrust up against him, reveling in the way Patrick’s head tips back and the breathy little moan he lets out.

“I want it,” he breathes, the two of them rocking together now. With the hand that’s not covering one of David’s on his waist, Patrick reaches down to touch himself over his boxer briefs. “I want you in me, David. Show me how good it feels.”

David surges up and flips their positions so that Patrick is on his back on the bed, looking up at David, stunned and wide-eyed, breath coming fast. The fact that they’re about to do this by candlelight on a stormy night feels unbearably cliche, but David can’t bring himself to care all that much. He kisses Patrick, first on the mouth, then down his chest, then over his underwear where he’s already hard and beginning to strain against the fabric.

“Yeah, come on, please…”

David pulls Patrick’s underwear off and can’t resist taking his cock in his mouth, tasting him, hearing his breath kick up another notch. He pulls off after only a minute or so.

“Are you sure you want…?” David says, finishing the question by trailing a finger over and behind his balls, then teasing further back.

“Uh-huh, yeah, yes,” Patrick pants.

David leans up so he can reach over to the side table for the lube Patrick keeps there now, bringing it back with him between Patrick’s legs.

“Tilt up a little,” David says, and Patrick moves before he’s finished the request. They’ve done this part before. Patrick thoroughly enjoys having David’s fingers inside him, and it’s become David’s favorite way to get him off. It’s always the most verbal Patrick ever is, surprisingly filthy words and sounds spilling from him as he rocks against David’s hand.

He’s not talking now, just breathing hard as David opens the lube and gets some on his fingers. He seems tense, less in an anticipatory way and more like he’s trying very hard to keep still despite his breathing, so David looks up. Patrick is very focused on some point on the ceiling, his mouth pressed closed in a hard line. David’s gaze drops to find he’s also gone a bit soft.

“Hey,” David says, placing a hand gently on one of Patrick’s knees. “Are you okay? Is this still okay?”

It takes a few seconds, but Patrick eventually shuts his eyes and shakes his head. David immediately wipes the lube off his hand onto his own thigh and crawls back up the bed to lie next to him while Patrick takes deep breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes still closed. “I got… nervous.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” David says, placing a hand on Patrick’s stomach and rubbing the soft skin there with his thumb.

“I shouldn’t have gotten nervous. I want this. I know I want this. I don’t know why…”

“Sometimes it’s just… not going to happen. The stars just don’t align,” David says, hoping that’s a safe, general way of validating what could be very complicated feelings. “I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I won’t always want to do certain things. It just… depends.”

Patrick huffs a sad little laugh. “You mean it’s normal for people to want things sometimes and not other times?”

He’s is being sarcastic and derisive toward himself, which David doesn’t like, but it also saves him from having to explain that he meant there are specific triggers that sometimes launch him back to the darker parts of his romantic and sexual history, which can interfere with what he’s doing in the present. He doesn’t want to think about how the fact that he wants this relationship with Patrick to work out means they’ll probably have to talk about those things at some point. So he just focuses on Patrick, now.

“I know you’re frustrated,” David says. “And I’m sure you don’t want to hear that there’s no rush, but there isn’t. If you want something… if we both want it… we’ll get to it.”

Patrick sighs and finally turns his head to look at David.

“Okay. I’m still sorry.”

David gives him a soft peck on his cheek.

“I wish you wouldn’t be, but I understand.”

Patrick turns on his side to face David fully and kisses him. He pulls back and hesitates a moment before asking, “Would you want to do something else? Or have I completely killed the mood?”

“I think the candles are holding the mood together quite nicely.”

Patrick laughs and then they’re both smiling as they kiss again. They let themselves get lost in it, licking into each other’s mouths, pulling each other as close as possible. When Patrick’s hand slides down David’s back and his fingers dip tentatively under the waistband of his underwear, David meets him halfway and they get his boxer briefs off. David wastes no time pulling their bodies together, both of them moaning when their hard cocks rub together. Patrick’s hands cradle David’s face so he can kiss him, deep and filthy, as they rock into each other.

“Fuck, David, I want you,” Patrick gasps, pulling away to tip his head back while David continues to move them.

“You have me,” David whispers. Then, an idea strikes him. “Turn over on your other side.”

Patrick does, without hesitation, immediately pushing back into David’s body and whining at the feeling of David’s dick pressed against his ass. David smiles, kisses his shoulder, and puts a little space between them so he can get the lube again and slick himself up. He coaxes Patrick’s leg up enough to get himself situated, pressing up and sliding his dick against his perineum. Patrick groans and David guides his leg back down, trapping his cock between Patrick’s thighs. He grips Patrick’s hip thrusts a few times gently, but as soon as he kicks his hips with more force, producing an obscene slapping sound when their bodies meet, Patrick moans like he’s getting what he’d wanted, like he’s being fucked.

Each thrust of David’s hips knocks a sound out of Patrick’s chest now. When the sounds become muffled by more than just the rainfall, David realizes Patrick is pressing the edge of the pillow against his mouth. David lets go of Patrick’s hip so he can reach up and tug the pillow out of Patrick’s grip. Once his hand is free, David pins it to the mattress next to the pillow.

“God David I want it, I want you in me,” he gasps, as if the mouthful of pillowcase had been the only thing holding him back. David thrusts hard in response.

“Just imagine that I am. Do you feel that?”

A deeper moan tumbles from Patrick’s mouth and he squeezes his thighs together tighter, pushing back to meet David’s movements.

“Uh-huh, just like that,” David says, then drops his voice lower to whisper in his ear, “You’re so tight, feels so fucking good.”

Patrick makes a frantic little sound and wrestles his hand out of David’s grip. He grabs David’s hand instead, bringing it up to his mouth and closing his lips around two of David’s long fingers. David swears, and feels Patrick lips quirk up in a smile. They do this quite a bit, exploiting each other’s imaginations to get each other off when privacy and time are in limited supply. At first, it had mostly been David taking advantage of how new and exciting every little thing was for Patrick. But Patrick reads David better than anyone else ever has, and caught onto this game quickly too.

David pushes his fingers deeper into Patrick’s mouth and shudders at the way Patrick’s body loses some of its tension, and at the vibrations of his moaning around his fingers. He keeps pushing his dick between his thighs and his fingers into his mouth until Patrick sounds as close to unraveling as David feels. He pulls his fingers out of Patrick’s mouth, a needy gasp following them on their way out. David turns his palm to Patrick’s mouth instead, and without having to say a word, Patrick licks it, getting it wet with saliva, a routine perfected over the course of many quick and near-silent hand jobs they’ve given each other at the store, or in Patrick’s room when Ray is downstairs, or once, rather scandalously, behind the Cafe.

He reaches down and wraps his hand around Patrick’s cock, both of them moaning at the contact. As David strokes him, they momentarily lose their rhythm, and David slips out from between Patrick’s thighs, unintentionally sliding up between his cheeks, the head of his dick pressing briefly against his hole. David freezes.

“Shit, sorry-”

“Do it again,” Patrick gasps, so softly that David would have missed it, but then Patrick is repeating, begging, “Do it again, do it again…”

More carefully this time, David pulls back and presses back in close, not pushing in, but rocking against him, just teasing pressure against his hole while he jerks him off with quick, deliberate strokes. He knows he’s not going to manage this type of stimulation for long, the lube making it too easy to slip out of place, but it doesn’t matter. He feels Patrick’s cock throb in his grip and then he’s coming messily over David’s hand, groaning low and hot between gasping breaths. David presses his forehead against Patrick’s shoulder, willing himself to still his hips while he works Patrick through his orgasm.

When Patrick sags, spent, David gives his shoulder a quick, apologetic kiss before turning on his back and using his hand, wet with Patrick’s come, to jerk himself off. He doesn’t love pulling away from Patrick so quickly, but he’s close and not too sure how well received it would be if he came on him right now.

He’s aiming for efficiency as he gets himself off, his face turned away from Patrick as he works himself with fast strokes. He feels Patrick move next to him, and then a hand is cupping his cheek, turning his face. Before David can open his eyes, Patrick’s lips are on his, kissing him hard. David moans desperately into the kiss and Patrick smiles against his lips, and when David’s mouth goes slack, Patrick stays close, their noses brushing together as Patrick nods encouragingly. When David comes, adding his own mess to his hand as well as his stomach, he turns to bury his face against Patrick’s neck, eyes squeezed shut and panting while Patrick pets at him soothingly.

David stays curled against Patrick, working himself until it’s too much and he’s shuddering. He lets go of his softening dick, his hand hovering awkwardly so as not to spread the mess. After a moment he feels Patrick’s hand sliding down his arm, cradling his wrist. He sits up a little and bends over, bringing David’s hand to his lips and licking the come from his fingers.

“_Fuck_,” David sighs, head rolling back on the pillow. When he looks back up, Patrick is grinning a little bashfully.

“You taste good,” he says, lips brushing against one of David’s knuckles.

David lets out a breathy laugh. “Might be you. Got both of us on there.”

Patrick pauses and then curses under his breath, moving to kneel over David, making the angle easier on both of them to take David’s fingers in his mouth, humming contentedly as he sucks them clean. Still hazy, all David can do is watch and wonder vaguely how long it would take him to get hard again if Patrick were to keep this up. After he finishes with his hand, he ducks down to lick his stomach clean too, leaving a trail of sweet kisses along the way. David gently cups the back of Patrick’s head, petting lazily. When Patrick moves lower, taking David’s soft cock in his mouth and sucking a little too enthusiastically, David hisses and pushes at his shoulder.

“Easy, easy.”

Patrick lets him go and looks back up, wide-eyed and biting his lip in a very “sorry, but not all that sorry” way. David pulls him back up so he can kiss him, his tongue delving in to try to taste _ them _on Patrick’s tongue. When he breaks away, he rests a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“You know you don’t have to prove anything to me,” David says. “You don’t have to prove you want… this.”

Patrick looks surprised, and frankly, David is surprised at himself. He’s used to wishing desperately that the people he was seeing _ would _give him some proof, some sign that they wanted him, not just his money or his body or whatever else it was that only ever attracted temporary flings. And suddenly, he finds he has it. It’s in the meals they share together, in the time spent snuggled together watching movies, in their professional collaboration. It’s in the way the sex is great, but it’s not the only thing they have going for them. They really have something here, and David hates to think Patrick might think he’s lacking in any way.

Patrick is smiling at him softly now, nodding. David must still look unsure, because Patrick says, “Yeah. Yeah, I- I know,” and kisses him again.

\---

It’s too cold for them to stay naked, so they clean up and get dressed. David puts on the sweatpants but forgoes the Blue Jays sweatshirt, sticking to just his t-shirt instead. He settles back into bed on his back, Patrick on his side next to him, a hand on David’s arm, rubbing him with his thumb absently. David looks over at him and then moves his arm away, raising it as an invitation. Patrick smiles and snuggles in, placing his hand on David’s stomach and resting his head on his shoulder so that David can wrap his arm around him. This has been another surprise for David. He’d never been much of a cuddler, but now he wonders - as cliche as it sounds - if he just hadn’t met the right person for this before.

He’s starting to drift off, comfortable, warm, and satisfied, the patter of the rain fading into the background. Patrick’s voice that pulls him back.

“You know, there’s something I never got about you.”

David tenses. “Um. Do I wanna know?”

He feels a puff of breath and a smile against his collarbone. It makes it difficult for him to stay on guard.

“When you came in to incorporate, you were so…”

“Charming?” David suggests. “Bewitching? Enchanting?”

“I was gonna say scattered,” Patrick says, laughing when David scoffs. “You had this great idea. You have so much confidence in your taste-”

“Rightfully so.”

“Most of the time, yeah.” Patrick squirms when David pinches his arm. “But when you first came in, you were so nervous, I really thought you had no idea what you were doing.”

“Oh thank you so much.”

“But you _ do _know what you’re doing. Not just with the store, but, you know, with me.”

Now David is intrigued. “Go on.”

“I’m used to taking the lead,” Patrick explains after a pause. “But obviously I can’t always… do that here. Or I’ll try when I really shouldn’t. And you always know what to do.”

“I do have a little bit of… experience in this area.”

“You did with the store too. I mean, you ran art galleries in New York. I guess I expected that taking over a retail space in a nowhere town would be small potatoes for you. I probably wouldn’t have been so blunt with you if I’d thought you were a total novice. But I knew you weren’t.”

_ Oh. _ Right. Patrick didn’t know.

David weighs his options. He could say he was flustered because Patrick was cute. It was partially true. But something tells him Patrick would see through a deflection like that. Or…

“David?”

...he could just tell him.

“Okay,” David sighs. “I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise you won’t leave me and-or the store.”

The pause Patrick takes seems to stretch forever, until finally he asks, “Was a crime committed, or was anyone hurt?”

David smiles, despite himself. It’s surprisingly comforting that Patrick would ask those questions rather than just swearing to him on the spot.

“No,” David says. “Well… I don’t know if it was illegal, technically. Certainly frowned upon. But in the end, I was the only one hurt, so…”

Patrick leans up so he can look at David and says, simply, “Tell me.”

David looks up into the dark, but can still feel Patrick’s eyes on him. He squeezes his own eyes shut and takes a deep breath.

“My parents financed my galleries. The startup money, sure, I knew about that obviously, but… they bought my patrons too. All of them. Any success I’d thought I had was bought. They didn’t believe I could do it on my own, so they never bothered to let me try. I didn’t know until I was about to lease the store. My mom was trying to block me from doing it, and finally she had to tell me why. Any confidence I had was unearned, so when faced with someone who actually _ knows _business… when I didn’t have the answers to the questions you were asking, I figured it was only a matter of time before you realized I was a total fraud.”

He stops there and waits to feel Patrick turn away, to hear him sigh in disappointment, maybe even get up and leave the bed entirely. Instead, he feels his hand rest gently on his cheek. When he finally opens his eyes, Patrick is looking down at him with a soft, open expression.

“You should be really proud of what you’ve done with the store,” he says. “If anything, I think it’s just proof that your parents didn’t need to do what they did. I’m sorry that you feel doubt and I get where that’s coming from, but you really don’t need to worry.” Patrick is smiling now. “And for what it’s worth, I still would’ve gone into business with you if I’d known about this.”

“Right,” David hums, rubbing Patrick arm. “Because you had a crush on me.”

“I did,” Patrick laughs. “But I had a bigger crush on your business plan.”

“Wow. Should I be jealous? Would you like some alone time with your spreadsheets? Is that why you’re always so jazzed to do _ inventory_?”

“Sometimes, when I’m alone, I just think about you explaining the consignment model…”

David snort-laughs, clapping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment, which sets Patrick off laughing. He settles after a minute, resting his head back on David’s shoulder, and they go quiet again. The silence stretches on, and David would have assumed Patrick had dozed off, were it not for the increasingly anxious patterns Patrick is tracing on David’s stomach with his finger.

“I feel like…” Patrick eventually says, then sighs. “I feel like, since you told me that… I should tell you something about me.”

Alarm bells go off in David’s head. Instinctively, he makes a joke.

“Well you did just heavily imply that you pleasured yourself to the memory of me describing my business plan, so…”

“David, I’m serious,” Patrick says softly.

“Okay,” David says, cautiously. “But um… you don’t have to do that.”

“I know. There are things that I… that I want to tell you. About me.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, David nods for a moment before saying, “Okay, okay, yeah, I guess… since I told you what I told you, it’s only fair that you tell me something. If that’s what you want.”

“Thank you,” Patrick says. He pauses and takes a breath. “So, um. So I was… hm…”

When he stops this time, David suspects that whatever he’s going to end up saying isn’t what he had originally set out to say. He can’t imagine what big secrets clean-cut, sensible, generally wholesome Patrick Brewer could be harboring, and he doesn’t know whether that should reassure him or terrify him. He bites his tongue and waits.

“In middle school, I had this friend, Alex,” Patrick finally says. “We were basically inseparable for two years. You know, played all the same sports, had to be sat on opposite sides of the classroom so we wouldn’t talk through class. We were… close. We ended up going to different high schools and losing touch. Then, sometime during junior year, he got my number from someone and asked if we could meet up. It’d been so long, and I was stoked to hear from him. We went to this pizza spot we used to get slices at after school on Fridays. When I saw him, he looked good. I don’t mean like attractive… actually, well… I’ll come back to that. He just looked _ happy_. He never seemed unhappy before, but something was different. So he tells me that he’s started coming out to his family and his friends at school, that he’s gay and he’s known for a long time. And… I guess he was worried word would get back to me and… he and I had been pretty affectionate with each other. Other kids used to, you know, say things, casual homophobic stuff. We didn’t care, always brushed it off. But because of that, he wanted to make sure I knew that he hadn’t been hiding anything from me, about me. Like he didn’t secretly have a crush on me all that time or whatever, and that our friendship had been important to him and he didn’t want me to find out about him from someone else and feel uncomfortable.”

He pauses there, but it’s clear there’s more, so David rubs his arm to encourage him to continue.

“I didn’t react well. Not like, you know, _ that_. What happened was, I got upset that he’d ever think I would be uncomfortable with something like that. But I _ over _reacted about it. Even as I was talking, I didn’t understand why I was so upset. Alex definitely wasn’t prepared for that reaction either. We parted ways and lost touch again.”

Patrick pauses again, sighing.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. I remember, after he looked confused, he looked a little… sad. And now I think it’s because, maybe he’d figured me out before I did. And maybe I was a little jealous that someone - this guy - that I’d been so close to, was so adamant that he only ever saw me as a friend.” He chuckles ruefully. “Not to be a cliche but it’s all… a bit confusing.”

David nods, letting it all sink in before asking, “Have you thought of reaching out to him now?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, hastily adding, “Not out of any residual interest in him or anything. But… yeah. Not too sure what I’d say, though. I guess something like, ‘Hey, remember when you came out to me and I acted like an idiot and you saw right through me? I finally know what you knew’.”

“Okay, well, no one knows before you do,” David says. “People can suspect and speculate all they want, but until you know for yourself, no one else does.”

“That’s… really wise,” Patrick says, pressing up against David impossibly closer.

“If you could sound just a little less surprised when I say something smart, that would be great.”

“I’m not surprised, I’m impressed. I know you’re smart, David.”

It’s easier when Patrick teases him for fishing for compliments. Actually getting a compliment like that makes him feel restless, both flattered and embarrassed.

“Well as you know, I have exactly one friend, so I’m no expert, but I feel like this, with this Alex person, is a friendship waiting to be reignited. You should reach out.”

“I know. I just… not yet. But I will.”

“Good. No rush or anything, but do feel free to mention the hot entrepreneur you’re dating. I’m sure he’ll be very impressed.”

“The what now?”

“Very funny.”

“Oh, is that how you’re describing yourself these days?”

“Alright, good talk, time for bed.”

“Would ‘former Gap Kids model’ also suffice, or…?”

“Goodnight!” David says, pulling his arm out from around Patrick and moving to turn on his side away from him. Patrick stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you for listening,” Patrick says earnestly.

David sighs, smiling softly and rubbing a hand up Patrick’s back.

“Same to you.”

\---

David wakes up to silence, the patter of rain completely absent now. It’s dark, but early-morning dark, and he’s curled up on his side facing the nightstand on what he usually claims as his side of the bed when he stays over. Instinctively, he squints at the digital clock on the nightstand, which is flashing 12:00, 12:00, 12:00 at him. Not very helpful, but at least the power came back on sometime in the night. He reaches for his phone, which is hanging onto the last of its battery life. Almost 5:30am. He groans and rolls over, too groggy to feel bashful about snuggling into Patrick so he can go back to sleep.

Patrick isn’t there.

David sits up and looks around the room, blinking until it more-or-less comes into focus. No Patrick. The rational part of his brain tells him he’s probably just in the bathroom. He lays back down and waits for as long as he can bear, but when Patrick doesn’t return, he drags himself out of bed. The room is chilly and, after a moment’s hesitation, he finds the sweatshirt Patrick had pulled out for him last night and puts it on.

He peeks out the bedroom door down the hall, where the bathroom is unoccupied. Slowly, David makes his way downstairs. Patrick isn’t in the living room, where David thought maybe he’d find him reading a book because he couldn’t sleep, or sleeping on the sofa because David hogged the blankets and he’d finally had enough. He checks the kitchen, where he finally finds a sign of life - the kettle has been put on. So where did Patrick go with his tea?

David pads back into the front room, tip-toeing up to the door. It’s unlocked. David briefly weighs his options and eventually resigns himself to retrieving a pair of slippers from the downstairs closet that he knows Ray keeps handy for guests. He usually declines them, opting to go sock-footed in the house rather than wear slippers that who-knows-how-many of Ray’s guests have had a turn in. His brain is still sleepy enough that he doesn’t think too hard about it.

He opens the front door and is relieved to find Patrick standing there on the porch, leaning against the railing. He’s wrapped in the throw blanket from the couch, a mug of tea in one hand and his phone in the other. He looks surprised to see David, then smiles softly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” David steps onto the porch, closing the door behind him. “You, um… I woke up and you weren’t there, and I just…”

He feels himself blushing at the admission, but Patrick just keeps looking at him in that almost reverent way that David doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve.

“Sorry. I thought about leaving a note, but I wasn’t going far. And I figured you probably wouldn’t wake up for a few more hours anyway.”

David goes to stand next to Patrick, resting his forearms on the railing and folding his hands gingerly. It smells like rain and the ground is still wet, but there’s only a light smattering of clouds left. The sun will find its way through them in no time.

“If you’re gonna be the type of person who gets up to take photos of the sun rising, we really should get you on Instagram,” David says.

Patrick looks at him, then looks at his phone like he’d forgotten he was holding it. He huffs a laugh as he sets it down on the railing.

“We’ve been over this, David. I’m just not that into social media.”

“I know, but it’s just that you’re the only person in my very small circle of people I… care about… who I can’t tag? Which is kind of annoying. Even my dad is on Instagram. He’s never taken a picture that was in focus in his life but my god, he’s trying.”

Patrick laughs again, his eyes cast downward. David wants to wrap his arms around him and just hold him, for as long as Patrick will allow. But he decides against it in the moment.

“Maybe that can be one of the workshops we host at the store,” Patrick teases. “Instagram 101.”

“I know you’re making fun of me, but if we framed it as ‘modern photography’ and wrapped it into the scrapbooking workshop idea, I think we’d have something.”

“Anything so we don’t have to do another open mic night, right?” Patrick says, sipping his tea.

David looks at him seriously. “You know that’s not how I feel.”

Patrick doesn’t respond, but he smiles. David could leave it at that, stand here in comfortable silence, ignoring the questions buzzing in his head. But it feels like they’ve grown past that, into something deeper. Something where they talk things out.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. When Patrick looks at him questioningly, he adds, “I know that 5am is early, even for you.”

Patrick looks at his mug and nods. “I couldn’t sleep. Just thinking.”

David takes a breath, bracing himself. “Do you want to talk about it?”

For a moment, it seems like he doesn’t want to. But then he says, slowly, “David. I don’t take for granted how hard it is for you to… share things about yourself. To be… open. With me. I hope you know that.”

“Oh. Um, yeah. I appreciate that.”

“And, um. For what it’s worth… I want to know you. I know you had this whole life before you came here. And maybe you don’t want to tell me everything, and I probably don’t need to know everything, but anything you do want to share, if and when you feel like sharing it, I want to know. And I know it’s not the same, but I had a different life before I came here too. Before I met you. There are things I haven’t shared with you either and I just hope we can keep… when the time is right, we can tell each other things.”

David stares at his hands, processing this. No wonder Patrick couldn’t sleep. The instinct to run creeps in again, but he takes a page from Patrick book instead and pushes forward.

“Well. We are coming up on four months. And you know more about me than anyone ever has at this point, so…”

The part he leaves out is that he’s never even made it four months with anyone else. He chances a glance over at Patrick, who is looking up at him, biting back a smile.

“I thought you weren’t keeping track of months.”

“No, what I said was I don’t think we need to commemorate every month with gifts. Doesn’t mean I’m not aware of… the passage of time.”

Patrick looks away again, his smile breaking free. “Thanks for reminding me that I need to figure out what to get you for month four.”

David huffs. “I know you well enough to know you already have that planned.”

Patrick laughs and nods. “Yeah. Yeah you got me there.”

David’s cheeks hurt from fighting his own unrelenting smile. “I like that I know that about you. I still don’t approve, but I appreciate that you’re a planner. And that you think you’re so romantic.”

“Oh I _ am _romantic.”

“You’re cheesy.”

“You lo-”

Patrick stops short, and David tenses, knowing what he was going to say. _ You love it. _ Maybe he does.

“I, uh, don’t think you hate it as much as you pretend to,” Patrick goes with instead.

“Hmm. Guess you do know me pretty well.”

They fall silent after that. Even though this is very nearly the longest relationship David’s had, and even though they’ve made an effort to take it slow, things have gotten intense in a relatively short amount of time. David looks out at the wet pavement and the nearly clear morning sky. He feels surprisingly calm.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t realize Patrick is taking a photo of him until he’s already taken it.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” David asks, his tone gentler than the words themselves.

Patrick lowers his phone a little guiltily.

“You just looked…” Patrick shakes his head, and David wishes desperately that he’d finish that sentence. Instead, he says, “You know, if I was on Instagram, it would mostly be pictures of you.”

“And _ you _know there would be a rigorous approval process before you could post any photos of me.”

“Well…” Patrick says, showing his phone to David. “What’s the criteria? Would this photo pass? You can’t see that you’re wearing sports memorabilia, so I assume that’s a plus.”

David leans in to look at the photo. His profile is lit by the soft morning light, and he looks content, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. And Patrick’s right, the front of the sweatshirt isn’t visible. His bedhead also isn't all that bad. It’s a good photo.

“Um, if you could just send that to me, I’ll get back to you with my decision in seven-to-ten business days.”

With a knowing smirk, Patrick texts him the photo and puts his phone down again, picking up his mug for a sip of tea.

“You know, if you want to go get a little more sleep, you can.”

David looks at him. “What about you?”

“I won’t be able to go back to sleep at this point. But I’m okay here, really. One of us should be well-rested for work today.”

He does consider it for a moment, knowing that Patrick will be far more functional than him on so little sleep. But ultimately, he slides over closer to Patrick so their arms are touching.

“Yeah, I probably won’t be able to get back to sleep either,” David lies. “So if you don’t mind the company…”

“We should get you some coffee then.”

“Oh, _ copious _ amounts. But not right now.”

“Okay David,” Patrick says. He tilts his head to lean it on David’s shoulder, and they watch the remnants of the storm give way to another sunny day in Schitt’s Creek.

**Author's Note:**

> "Tuesday Morning": [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABw_IdNPgSs) | [Lyrics](https://genius.com/Michelle-branch-tuesday-morning-lyrics)
> 
> Notable lyrics used for this:
> 
> _Please don't drive me home tonight / 'Cause I don't wanna feel alone_
> 
> _If I had known then that these things happen / Would they have happened with you?_
> 
> _And if you turned around to see me / And I was gone / You should have looked outside your window / 'Cause the sun was coming up_
> 
> _ **Tuesday morning / In the dark / We were finding out who we are** _
> 
> Oh, and I almost forgot, [this is the '92 World Series sweatshirt](https://www.picclickimg.com/d/l400/pict/223535486613_/Vintage-Toronto-Blue-Jays-1992-MLB-World-Series.jpg), because you know I like to pick actual clothes for David when I write these things.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Say hi on [Tumblr](https://fraudulentzodiac.tumblr.com).


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